


i'm sure of nothing that i know

by enemeriad



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mutually Unrequited, When will this show give these two what they deserve, dumb idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemeriad/pseuds/enemeriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harvey knows the law, knows himself. this is the lay of his land. and yet sometimes, he wonders, if he knows love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm sure of nothing that i know

(then,)

He remembers the first day Donna started working at the District Attorney's office. How ill-fitting her dress had been, immodest necklne that cut at an asymmetrical angle at her knees.  
She had smiled at him, just briefly, and he remembered watching her work, organising his in-tray with the same ferocity she still had today. He had felt intimidated by this woman that was just as brilliant as she appeared to be.

He hadn't liked her in the beginning - she was too brash, she had too many opinions and she stifled him with his inability to issue a command she hadn't already completed.  
He'd sulked in his cubicle for a day or two (or week) and rang Jessica three times to beg her to let him work for her already.

It took almost 3 months for them to stop rubbing each other up the wrong way, for Donna to stop finishing his sentences and for him to quit petitioning for her to get transferred to one of the other Prosecutors.

 

 

They had attended the annual mixer hosted by Mathers & Lou which was basically a way for the corporates to kiss ass and proffer judges bribes. He'd made Donna come as his date, hold his champagne and 'look pretty' while he navigated the corporate lauding ladder.  
He remembered how Cameron had told him that if he didn't quit being such a jerk to his secretary, he'd have to answer his own calls and he figured he could kill two birds with one stone here.

She had still been wearing the same outfit from the office this morning because he'd only told her she had to attend with him about 15 minutes before he was about to leave. Her mouth had been set in pert line and she'd cemented herself into a bar stool with a bottle of Chandon on tap and started flirting with Newman and Horan's Senior Suckup David Wallace.

He remembered watching her with a smirk as she enlightened the waspish man about her sexcapades. She was doing this simply to push his buttons and he ended up coasting over and extricating her from Wallace's perverted fantasies.

'He looked like he was just about to eat you up.'

'Aw Harvey,' she drawled, 'Now who's afraid of the big bad Wallace-Woof?'

'You're drunk.'

'You're a bore,' she'd retorted sagely, placing the champagne flute into his hands. 'You dragged me to this mixer, now let me at least get drunk enough to forget how many times that mutt Stevens groped my ass.'

'Well let's go then,' he'd suggested, waving towards the door.

She'd yawned, carefully covering her mouth with the back of her hand. 'I'm never going to forgive you for making me come to this.'

'I couldn't come alone.'

Donna had rolled her eyes, stared at him for a second and then laughed. 'Did all the pretty witty lawyer-liars stand you up? Or are you that bad in the bed that they all lost interest?'

He'd scowled. 'If you must know--'

'I don't really care, Harvey. In fact, I'm sure they'll all be calling me tomorrow asking who the Mystery-Ginger was.'

'Well at least that'll prove they're jealous.'

Donna had laughed broadly and tapped his cheek patronisingly. 'Aw Specter. You've no idea how women work, do you?'

He'd shrugged her off. 'Oxymoronic.'

'Oh, they might call Harvey but seeing you with another woman only makes you more available to their moronic, soulless, detached selves. They live off the fact that they can never have you. There's no fun in a man that says ok.'

'That's conjecture and a generalisation. You're not like that, for one.'

Donna turned to him and sighed. 'And that just proves how little you know.'

'What about Brad?'

'Who's Brad?'

Harvey had arched an eyebrow, all smug in his observation. 'Whoever sent you flowers last week. He seemed pretty interested in you. With love.' He moved to open the door and had given her a pointed look. 'What about you and this Brad kid then?'

Donna had grinned and swept past him. 'Pretty sure it said Dad and I think he's got a vested interest in me.'

 

 

They'd ended up on the street, sides pressed against each other as the champagne buzz was subdued by the bitter cold evening.

'Well he's got awful writing for a Doctor,' Harvey had muttered to her as she tightened the shawl around her shoulders, laughing through chattering teeth at his statement.

'It's a thing with Doctors.'

'A safety hazard more like.'

She'd leant on him, careful warmth against his person and he remembered shuttling her into his overcoat, flesh against his dress shirt and stood like that on a quiet Manhattan street.

'How did you become a secretary, Donna?' he'd asked when the quiet stillness had begun to engulf them.

And she'd shrugged like it was a pointless question. 'Just be grateful I did so that I could keep your sorry ass in check.'

'Because you're drunk, I'm going to let that slide. But you can't just take liberties--'

Donna had snorted. 'Empty, Specter. Empty threat. In any case, you should know that I cannot get drunk. Not in the traditional sense anyway. Even completely wasted, I still function at a higher capacity than most mere mortals.'

He rolled his eyes, thankful that she couldn't see him. After a beat, Donna let out a deep breath, a cloud of warm air appearing in front of her eyes.

'I'm only saying this because I am slightly tipsy and I'm nicer when drunk, but if you stop petitioning Jules to reassign me, I'll stop hussling you.'

'Hussling?'

'Shut up and take the deal, Harvey. It's the best one you're going to get.'

He'd laughed and pulled her a little tighter. 'Is this payback for making you go tonight?'

'No, you still owe me big time for that. So, that a yes or a no?'

'Are you sure you didn't go to law school?'

She'd punched him in the gut for that and then smiled dazzlingly to sweeten the deal.

'Okay, okay,' he'd wheezed. 'I'll play. But if you give me sass for dating two women again--'

'Done, I'll give it up. It's not my business which women in this city are so easy they'll go for you.'

 

 

The retribution for making her go to that god-awful mixer was dinner, at her place, with her parents.

'I think this oversteps the boundaries of 'payback'.'

Donna had waved him off as she shoved his caseload into his arms. 'They're my parents. They're not going to bite. Or grope, for that matter. So technically, it's almost me handing away my hold over you.'

He'd eyed her and then side-stepped into her cubicle. 'Donna, I never forced you to play my girlfriend.'

'I don't want you to play my girlfriend, Harvey. That defeats the point of your attendance.'

'You know what I mean.'

She'd frowned, straightening her keyboard, her spine ramrod straight. 'Look, it's not a big deal. Don't tell them anything. Just let them believe what they want.'

'And the point of all this... is?' He'd asked, leaning over her desk as she'd twisted uncomfortably.

'Think of it like a date.'

'With you and me?'

'Well don't sound so excited.'

'Come on, Donna. You're like my brother. Except not as poor.'

He'd had the audacity to smirk at her and she'd ended up refusing to field his calls, muttering about how immature he was and how she was an extremely attractive woman thank you very much.

'No fair,' He'd mouthed at her from his office.

She'd just winked at him, placing the wilted birthday flowers from her father into the waste disposal and watched him spend an hour talking to Daniel after she'd sweetly told the managing partner that Harvey had a free afternoon to chat about golf.

 

(now,)

He doesn't mind the tenacity of her anymore. Doesn't see her loyalty as encroaching on his personal space but a gentle reminder that she's there for him, will always hold up a hand for him to take, a crutch against the world when it all threatens to crumble against his painted veneer.

Even despite the whole Davis thing, and then of course the debacle with the missing ledger, he'd never once doubted that she only did what she thought was best in whatever limited capacity she could.

She comes into his office, rolls her eyes at the new addition to his ball collection.

'Lillard?' she asks, quizzically. Her mouth turns into a smirk and she takes it, weighing it carefully in her hands. 'This ones for Mike, isn't it?'

He glances at her and smiles. 'Yeah it-, how did you know?'

Her mouth curves into a smile he knows so well. Smug, self-assured and brimming with confidence. 'Donna knows everything.'

 

 

He tries to explain the sentimental gesture with logic. 'They're both rookies. It's logical.'

'It's adorable,' Donna croons to him and places the ball back down, turning the signature to face him just so. 'Are you going to take him out to ball games and play catch in the park until he calls you Papa?'

Harvey rolls his eyes, adjusts his tie and has to refrain from sticking his tongue out at her. 'Look Donna, it's a ball. It's not a thing. I'm not going to start singing him lullabies or showing him how to tie his shoelaces. It's a ball. An investment in his future.'

Donna shrugs and raises her hands in defence. 'Whatever you say. But I know you already bought tickets to the Mets next month. It's totally a thing.'

She sashays out of his office, closing the door behind her and Harvey shakes his head. Of course she knows. Donna knows everything.

 

 

'How was the game?' She asks, standing by the elevator dressed in a slinky cream evening dress. He forgets the question for a good second or two as he drinks her in, ignoring the valet wanting to pry his coat from him. Her hair is effortlessly swept up off her shoulders and he doesn't know how it's done but strands fall softly around her face, framing it in an amber light. He coughs, clears his throat and threads her arm through his. Her back is exposed, he notices, and his fingers itch to trace paths up her spine, down the column of her throat, up the expanse of her thighs to her-

(Oh.

Oh.

He stops himself before his thoughts begin to imagine teeth pulling dresses down off her shoulders fingers mapping destinations to places that would make her moan fingers pressed to the underside of her jaw and just hearing her heart beat beat beat until he was sure she was real and that was there and this wasn't another moment where they would justt-)

'Mike doesn't appreciate baseball yet. Yet.' And he's successfully diverted attention from himself as Donna extricates herself from him to take two champagne flutes from a passing waiter.

Donna laughs, the syllables rising in the air like balloons. 'Is that so? Season pass going to make him a convert?' she asks coyly, passing him the glass.

'You have to stop going through my bank records. It's ridiculous,' he retorts, frowning at the edges of his mouth before he takes a sip. Bitter and overly fizzy, its lacklustre as he swallows it, wondering not for the first time how Jessica makes him agree to come to this stupid farce every year.

'What's ridiculous is that you spend more than three hundred dollars on shaving cream Harvey.' Donna turns for a moment to wave at a colleague, and then turns back to ridicule him some more. 'That could feed starving children in Africa.'

'I don't think African children can eat shaving cream,' He tells her, reasserting command by straightening his lapel. 'Harvey Specter donates to several prestigious charities,' he tells her after a beat, trying to measure up his altruism in the amount of green bills he thinks he's given.

Donna scoffs, her eyes glittering with humour and he doesn't know what to do with himself so he downs his champagne to avoid staring at her like she's something he'd like to eat. 'You mean charities that I donate to on your behalf?'

His smile could rival a Chesire cats. 'Same difference.'

'For a lawyer, you're surprisingly blase about fastidiousness,' she tells him, as she tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. His eyes follow her fingers and he wonders blindly if he looks odd watching her like this.

He pulls her a little closer, 'Donna, that's why I have you.'

'Judging by recent events, meticulousness is not a quality I can lay claim to.'

He sighs and reaches for another glass. 'Too soon Donna. Too soon,' he tells her before he can see the frown lines dig in around her mouth any more. He's seen this expression before, like the guilt is burying itself into her skin, pressing against her, until she starts doing something ridiculous like be nice to him.

She pivots to face him and she looks apologetic for a nanosecond before it dissolves into anger and he's surprised. This is different.

'Look Harvey-'

'No, you look Donna. You didn't make a mistake. At all. It's not in your genetic make up. It was a set up.' And it's like trying to force squares into circular moulds. He tries not to look pitying but he places a hand on her waist, the other busied with the glass and curls his fingers into her waist, pressing into the satiny-dress. 'We stuck them for it, fixed the problem and saved the world.'

Her hand curls around his and she moves it off, her eyes cutting ribbons into his argument like she knows he doesn't mean it. 'Maybe for them, but not for us.'

And he doesn't know what to do with that, doesn't really know what she means so, 'Donna, it's fine, let's just enjoy the cheapiest caviar Mathers & Lou have to offer.'

She rolls her eyes and shrugs. 'Just stick around lest anyone tries to talk to me here.'

And the blurry line is sharpened, no more jagged ambiguity, he can chart the changes in the then & now without any problems. He hands her another glass of champagne and tries a smile.

 

(then,)

He remembers that it was more poignant glances and longing touches. His time at the DA, bar the first 6 months they spent biting at each others ankles like small children, involved a lot of time simply imagining giving into baser urges and seducing his secretary.

There weren't dates or special occasions where they would pretend to be together and the sexual tension would engulf them both. It was more chinese eaten on the floor, under her desk so the Security Man wouldn't catch them pouring over evidence at 3 am, it was the coffee he spilt on her dress running from one courtroom to another when they were rescheduled on the morning of the preliminary, it was the way Donna knew everyone and anyone even after only working for him for a year, it was how she would lean over his desk (over his shoulder her hair against his cheek smelling like something delicious and-), it was the weekend in Brooklyn when everything fell apart.

He recalls, that after that, then looked a lot more like now. Bittersweet and the constant hesitation between any chance of physical contact.

 

 

It had been ninety degrees like the whole world wanted to punish them for leaving the city so late. He'd persuaded her to fly with him to Detroit (and maybe have a new bag thrown in for good measure) so she would come along and play house as the 'feuding divorcee' while he tried to frame a man for a breach of contract and embezzling from his law firm. It was a mission worthy only of Pearson and Harman - Jessica's first loose-leash task for him since starting at the firm. It was more a chance to see if he was worth the effort she'd put in.

(Donna given double duty as babysitter and play actress for the plan.)

They'd arrived at the airport, Harvey scowling something awful about having to leave Manhattan when he was working at a law firm that inspired enough fear that criminals wanted to come to them. He'd sulked while Donna fanned herself, sweat dripping down her temple.

'Two or three hours, god help me it better be cooler in Michigan,' she had breathed out, pressing the hand with a paper fan against her forehead.

'Let's look past the weather and remind ourselves that we're going to Detroit,' Harvey had muttered, legs crossed, stretching out a newspaper and looking like he'd just come out of a day spa.

'Harvey, it's a different city. It's not the wild west.' All he'd done was pout and go back to reading the sports section because apparently reading about the Knicks losing was less depressing that thinking about having to get Eric Brockovich to stop counter-suing and just sign the damn contract.

'Most likely a hurricane will strike and will be stuck with the obese, corn-growing, canadian wannabe's for a week,' Harvey had intoned, rustling his paper.

Donna had breathed out, stretching her neck. 'Just think about how proud Jessica will be if you close this. Daniel will stop breathing down her neck for hiring you.'

'This is just punishment for going broadside on the Tiejens deal, you know how she hates food companies.'

'Or maybe she just---' But Donna had gotten cut off by a clear, transient voice that told them that United Airlines US-Q43 was delayed due to a storm warning.

He'd slumped, finally, in his seat, uncrossed his legs and thrown the newspaper on the floor. 'That's it. We're going to the business lounge.'

Donna sighed, peeling herself off the pleather seat. Harvey eyed her for a second as she swept her hair off her shoulders before he started to laugh under his breath, altogether pleased with himself for absolutely no reason.

'It's always a pleasure to see you out of your depth.'

Donna had simply smiled. 'It's a state you live in perpetually,' she'd told him simperingly. 'Catatonically so, if you didn't have me.'

'Are you going to be like this the entire way there?'

'What made you think I'd be any different outside the office?'

 

 

The transient voice had come through the speakers again and alerted them all that the closest they're were going to see of Detroit was in the 'quaint' hotel they've been put up in Brooklyn. The airline had dumped them into a shabby bedroom in Broke-lane (which Harvey had thought was an extremely clever joke because get it?) and Donna had ignored his 45 minute diatribe on why Manhattan was the place to live. Feuding couple or whatever 'Mrs Donna Specter' had been given a queen sized bed that seemed like a tiny single when she went to inspect the 15th century antique.

'Do you think they bought these cheap from a prison somewhere?' Harvey had asked, dumping their luggage onto the threshold. 'God Donna, let's go to a hotel at the very least.'

She'd sighed, slumped on the bed. 'Harvey, it's already morning. Can we just-' she gestured vaguely towards the 70s kitsch pastel duvet and kicked off her shoes.

 

 

There had been nothing between them but a thin sheet and the a/c had been on but it had felt so goddamn hot, Harvey had not closed his eyes without feeling they would melt shut. He'd felt nervous, stiff as a board and couldn't help picturing her, hair spread on her shoulders fiery and naked, her hot center against his dick, and fuck he had been so hard. He'd heard her turn, breathe out heavily and swat the hair out of her face before coming to rest against him, skin smooth and cool, he'd choked. 

Because of all the places in the world he could've have been in that moment, he'd been stuck in a Brooklyn hotel room with his untrained paralegal / pseudosecretary without a rubber. 

Her hair fell over her face again as she'd shifted closer, cold. His arms had tugged her closer and fuck everything because her hand had come to rest on his abdommen, fingers playing with the edges of the wifebeater and he'd realised she was awake, blinking, but eyes trained on the ministrations of her own hands. 

All he remembered after that was noisy and blurry and half memory half fantasy because he'd relived the following half an hour so intently from then on. Parts had distorted and warped by dialogue that had occurred since then and conversations he wishes had happened but here is what is, for the most part clear:

Her hand had moved up under his singlet, nails grazing up his sternum, he'd been clenched so tight that her laugh, low and rumbling against his left breast had brought about a deep exhale. 

'God Harvey, what happened to like a brother?'

Her fingers pressing into his ribs and her leg hooked over his upper thigh, he had just gulped. 'I didn't mean that,' he'd blurted out, his voice a lot more affected than he'd hoped for. 

'So you want to deny..' And that's when she'd looked up, no nostalgia, just curiosity and determination. That part was transparently obvious now. Donna was always determined. 

'It's not professional,' he'd whispered, wondering if he said the words aloud how they would sound. Harsher than he'd thought, as Donna cat-like smile appeared. 

'Because I'm a step down from your usual exploits? Well fuck you very much.'

If only. 

Her hand had resurfaced and come down to rest on his stomach, where the feel of her icy skin was not as distracting through the material. 

'Donna.' It wasn't like he'd known what he had wanted to say really, had just wanted to say something so he wouldn't have felt so stupid, lingering in the abstract space he'd never encountered before where he didn't want to have sex with a woman that smelt like ink and mint and he didn't know what ink smelt like but it was sexy. What was wrong with him. 

(It was Brooklyn, he'd recited to himself later. It was Brooklyn.)

And all he'd said was her name but she'd just laughed. 'Come on Harvey. I get it. You don't have to skip the dissertation, I was looking forward to all the reasons Specter couldn't.'

'Textbook cliche,' he'd said, wondering if he was allowed to laugh at her in that moment or if, as the rejected party, she reserved that right. His hand had closed over hers. 

'Do it,' he'd asked softly. 'It needs to be said.'

She'd snorted, 'Typical.' And then moved her leg but kept just as close. 'We work together for one, but we work together and that makes it much more exciting. We both want it and with enough champagne we've both been there and now we're in a infested motel room and you can't stop thinking about it and I've been thinking about it for months and now we're at this precipice but you're going to choose work because you know how much you need me even though you won't say it yet because you're an idiot. But---'

He'd cut her off with, 'Donna, I-- can't hear this,' and his jaw had been clenched up tight as she'd turned her head to look at him and shaken her head. 

'But,' she'd continued looking at him levelly, 'you do. Need me, ok. And I like this job and I like working for you and with you. And we both, well we should both know that doing this isn't going to give me what I want and you're going to feel bad and I'm going to feel hateful and we'll stop working together and that's..'

'Awful,' he'd interjected, quietly. The thought had never crossed his mind until that moment, but he remembered how petrified he'd felt in that moment. Scared that she would go. 'That's awful.'

'And so. That's that.'

'No guidelines?' he'd pressed her. 'No rules to follow?'

She'd laughed then again, the seriousness floating away, as she'd turned onto her back. 'God Harvey. I love how you ruin a moment.'

'I'm being serious!'

'Well god, I don't know. We stop thinking about it. We don't flirt. We skirt around it. We act married.'

'Because married people never fuck.'

And Donna had looked at him like he was spot on, gold stickers for his effort. 'Precisely.'

He'd looked skeptically up the ceiling and then shrugged. 'And we grow up.'

She'd been silent for a moment, surprised at his sentiment and he'd closed his eyes against the world, had been scared to see what she looked like when she was proud, in case it didn't appear again. 'And you stop resenting me for being better than you.'

'Tough bargain you drive, Paulsen. I've taught you well.'

And she'd shaken her head with a sigh. 'I obviously haven't done my job at all. You still act you're the alpha in this relationship.'

 

 

(now,)

They stand on the roof of the building, the dusky mist rising from the depths of the skyscrapers, a patchwork of yellow and black, rearranging itself like a jigsaw into a new day in Manhattan. 

Donna breathes out, her breath forming a foggy cloud around her before it gets enveloped into the mist. 

'I can't believe I've known you for a decade,' she says, turning to him and looks poised to say something else before she falters and after a beat settles on, 'I think we're the same but different, you know?'

Harvey frowns, digs his hands into his pockets and looks out at Central Park and there is an eerie quiet, standing so tall above the skyline, the stillness so far removed from the bluring tapestry below him. 

'We did it,' he tells her quietly, watching the lights slowly switch on, as twilight descends upon his city. 'We managed to not screw it up, all this time, all those stupid things we did and we're still here, together.'

Donna glances at him, her eyes drop to linger on his shoulder before she turns back out towards the city, standing a foot from him and she wonders why he's isolating her like this, making her feel even more alone in the night. 

'If this is because of your Dad..' and she lets it hang there, surprisingly light, her words rising up into the fog. She can tell there could be rain and she knows this is where their treacherous territory exists, in the too personal that sits between them, back to that night. 

'He always loved you, Donna, he didn't get along with anyone after Mum.. and you, you, he loved you.' He looks at her askance, before his eyes busy themselves with the railing in front of him. Donna looks uncomfortable, like she knew this was going to happen and is determined to see it over. The hum of the city falters as he speaks.

'We should've tried.'

He can hear Donna's breath come out all at once and waits for her to speak, to say anything. 

'I told you I loved you that night, Harvey and you didn't feel the same,' she tells him simply and points out toward the harbour. 'At least it got itself out there.'

But he's blinking, 'What?' She never said. And his mind fizzles back to the moment, all the testosterone, the resignation in her voice and he tries to locate the moment. 'You never said..'

Donna rolls her eyes. 'It was implied, god,' she mutters and blows her hair out of her face and Harvey laughs, the parallel inescapable.

'You were looking for something that night,' she remarks with a shrug. 'And it's never been me.'

'That's not---' but he stops. 'Dad always said I'm complacent, take what I have for granted and only see its worth after its gone.'

The woman beside him smiles into the night. 'Well that's certainly true. It was just the wrong time or place or both. ...maybe it was us. Or me. Or you. I don't know. I don't think I want to. It'd ruin the dream.'

He pauses, moves a hair closer. 'Do you think about it?' he asks her curiously, trying not to load the question too much, tries to keep his face impassive and his posture disinterested.

'Of course,' she replies without hesitation. 'It's always going to be you Harvey. I can't really move from this moment, our moment but.. I like where I am.'

His eyebrows press together. 'What does that mean Donna? I feel like you're subliminally telling me I've supressed your hope of happiness. What do I even mean to you that's so important?'

She looks taken aback. 'You don't have to shout,' she replies softly, looking at him intently before turning back away. 'It's the possibility of you. It's the fact I can't have you, the fact that you're so available that you're inaccessible to me. You're the ultimate conundrum wrapped in an enigma. You can hurt me and yet you never can. Familiarity has bred contempt and yet.. it's also made me cataclysmic.'

He frowns at her. 'That sounds awful..' But Donna shakes her head and looks at him again. 

'No Harvey. You're wrong. Awful is you breaking my heart because you can't love me like I do you or like I want to be loved. Awful is me not being enough for you, awful is us forever lost in translation and never speaking again because we screwed each other so bad. We've done awful things - to our careers, to our friends, to our relationships - but never to each other. The ledger, the memo, taking the flack it's always so.. impersonal. That's how we work best. And awful would be never having that.'

He stares at her in awe and she smiles, softly at first before she beams. 'That's awful,' she breathes out. 

And the lights suddenly burst into brightness, the city lit up in advertisements and jingles, Taylor Swift announcing her new song in a sugary voice that could give someone cavities. 

'And why can't we have both?' Harvey asks her, capitalising on the smile and the moment. 'Why can't we try?'

Because she knows him and he knows her and they're perfect and yet not - and that makes it better. And she's toothy and crotchety if she's up before 7, he hates suede, she has a penchant for chocolate and hates flowers. 

Donna laughs. 'Harvey, you don't love me like that. You think of me like your maid and nanny and Mom that does your laundry.'

He blinks. 'Paulsen, if you think that I've spent 10 years with you, 7 of which were strictly 'professional' and haven't spent at least 3.5 preoccupied with thoughts of you unprofessional I think you don't know me at all.' His smile lights up the balcony and he nods. 'I used to hate you, you know. I hated the thought that I couldn't do it alone.'

'I know,' she interjects with a light smile, like she's unsure if he's going to make the play, or break it. 

'And now we're here, celebrating a decade and everyone knows that you love me, obviously, you choose me over everything and that's stupid and yet.. that's what I want from you. I'm that selfish. I need you. But.. Donna, come on, you can teach me to be right for you. We're half way there - you're perfect for me.'

She stares at him, her eyes narrow and then: 'There's no sexual tension,' She blurts out. This is the time for making excuses and making sure the fit is right. 

'No sexual tension?' He asks, taking a step towards her, the space suddenly a square foot of maybe we could space in between them. 

'Donna, do you remember Brooklyn?' he asks, breath fanning out against her throat, lips brushing the underside of her jaw, hands coming to rest on her hip, on her back, on her. 

'Of course,' she breathes out, arching her neck slightly. 

'Then for gods sakes woman, don't tell me we wouldn't have fantastic sex.' He hears her breath hitch slightly at the foremost word and he smiles. 'You've thought about it haven't you?'

'I.. god, yes, but--- Harvey!' she breaks his thought, teeth bruising her throat as he bites gently, and then laps his tongue over the spot. 

'Donna,' he intones, pulling back to look at her innocently. 'Go on, lay down the law. Why can't we do this?'

'Because you don't love me,' Donna whispers and she tries hard not to act petulantly. Because this is it.

And Harvey shrugs. 'No. I need you. And that lasts twice as long and-- god, alright Donna,' he starts as she scowls at him. 'It doesn't mean flowers or-, or nuzzling to me. It means I can't stop thinking about you and not being able to function without you, in the most attractive, manly way possible, okay? It means that for ten years you're the only woman that stays and stays not because she has to but because she wants to and because she likes to.' He breathes out evenly and shakes his head. 'For gods sakes.'

'You are it,' he mutters, 'I'm not settling, don't look at me like that! I found the best thing I could and held onto it with both hands, it just took me ten years to realise why.'

'But--'

'Look Donna, you've never said it either. It's the things we do. The actions we take. The choices we make. It's implied.'

And she turns to look at him, eyes trained on his for a long moment before she nods. 'Half way there, Specter. You're half way there.'

Harvey laughs. 'Conjecture.'


End file.
